Sown are the seeds of deathTo bring a harvest of flesh so ripeSown are the seeds of deathTo bless with blisters and pain this landFrom village to town, from cottage to houseFrom dusty roads across waters, the way be madeThere are no crosses to keep me away withThere are no prayers that will get me ridScourge of god - may I be - or just the devil set freeI am borne everywhere, no walls can keep me outInvisible I roam amongst yeeSilent and unfelt I sit among yeeTo ravish I have come, and make the many but fewTo silence the land from both laughter and cryI am the season in which to die